Whenever I head into Launceston, the sun is often setting on my homeward
journey. Such was the case today, and as on many other occasions there was no
safe place to pull over and park on the country road in order to stop and take
a photo at the moment I would have preferred.
Basking in the last ounce of warmth and colour from the setting sun,
this cloud stood out for me, and for some reason I was transported back to The NeverEnding Story. It doesn’t have a
distinctive likeness to Falkor who transported Bastian across Fantasia, but
something about its shape drew me to it.
Even with my imagination transforming it into a creature with outstretched wings rippling through the air, undulating through the thermals, I couldn’t work out if it was heading downwards, scouring the countryside below, or heading upwards, playfully chasing what was just out of reach. Wherever it was heading, it seemed to have a life nonetheless, until it shapeshifted itself into something else as the wind pulled it apart like the teasing out of cotton wool.
Even with my imagination transforming it into a creature with outstretched wings rippling through the air, undulating through the thermals, I couldn’t work out if it was heading downwards, scouring the countryside below, or heading upwards, playfully chasing what was just out of reach. Wherever it was heading, it seemed to have a life nonetheless, until it shapeshifted itself into something else as the wind pulled it apart like the teasing out of cotton wool.
It was a brief moment, but for me, it simply had a presence.
forever changing
with the breeze
No comments:
Post a Comment